


Parachute

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Heartbroken Peter, M/M, Neal being Neal, Reconciliation, Spoilers for 6.06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 16:15:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 2017, and Neal just wants to see his friend again. It doesn't go how he planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parachute

**Author's Note:**

> Oodles of thanks to mergatrude for beta and metaing and title. <3

Neal sat in the second to back row and scanned the steady stream of men and women filing into the conference room, chattering, greeting each other, checking the timetable on their phones. No sign of Peter yet, but there was no way he'd miss this, not if he was still the same Peter. In the meantime, Neal was getting that old edge of adrenaline. This was the ultimate trespass; he was surrounded by law enforcement officers who would seize on any excuse to arrest him, especially given the current terror alert.

Neal's conference pass was forged. It had been tricky getting through security. He probably could have procured a proper invitation if he'd been willing to call in some favours and use his real name, but Neal Caffrey was dead. He was here as Agent Harry Longabaugh, the original Sundance Kid. He'd dressed down for the occasion in an off-the-rack suit and cheap tie so as not to call attention to himself. His shoes were still Italian leather, though. One had standards.

The crowd settled down. It was starting. A steel-haired woman with glasses took the podium. "Welcome, bonjour. Montreal is proud to host the 2017 International Conference on Law Enforcement Policing Techniques, and in particular, this afternoon's panel, _Through Their Eyes: Partnering with Criminal Informants_. We have three teams here today. From London, Detective Inspector Graham Knowles and Mr. Frank Scanlon. From Vancouver, Agent Marissa Beaufort and Ms. Dee Armitage. And from Hong Kong, Senior Inspector Angie Hui and Mr. Robert Chen."

Neal tuned out the applause and resumed his covert search, casually checking the back row in case Peter had arrived late. Nothing. Maybe he wasn't the same Peter after all.

A ripple of laughter drew Neal's attention to the stage, where the Hong Kong team were teasing each other, and Neal flashed on a similar scene from years ago: him and Peter at the FBI Best Practices Conference in New York. Peter telling the world they had faith in each other.

But that was before James happened, before Curtis Hagen and David Siegel. Trouble and mayhem. Maybe it was just as well Peter wasn't here.

 

*

 

 _Through Their Eyes_ was the last session for the day. Neal followed the attendees to the bar and ordered a martini. He pretended to mingle, overhearing snippets of conversation in half a dozen languages but unable to bring himself to make small talk. Moz had been right: he was chasing dreams and memories. He should just go, get out of here before someone recognized him. There was a flight to Paris leaving at eight-thirty. He'd collect his suitcase, get a cab.

He left his half-full martini glass on a table, turned toward the exit and stopped dead, his chest tightening. He'd attributed his earlier tension to breaching the conference security perimeter, strolling into the lions' den, but he'd been wrong. It had been a heady cocktail of hope, nerves and anticipation for this. This sight before him.

Peter was just inside the bar, talking to a cluster of American agents. He looked tired, older, travel-worn. He still had his luggage with him, had clearly just arrived. He hadn't seen Neal yet.

One of the agents said something and Peter laughed, and Neal nearly turned tail then. He didn't belong here anymore. He could leave through the staff exit. 

But he'd come all this way. He hesitated, and Peter glanced across and saw him, and then there was no escape.

Except that Peter didn't excuse himself from his colleagues, didn't come over. He barely reacted at all. Fine, it was up to Neal to bridge the distance. He could do this. He pasted on a broad smile and forced himself across twenty yards of carpet.

Peter casually disengaged from the group in a chorus of "Catch up later" and "You owe me a drink" and came the last few feet to meet him. Glanced at Neal's name badge and said drily, "Agent Longabaugh."

"Call me Harry," said Neal. He'd expected a warmer welcome, even a hug, but Peter wasn't giving an inch. Neal amped up his smile. "I was starting to think you wouldn't make it."

"My flight was delayed." Peter stared at him stone-faced for a moment, then huffed a breath and headed for the bar. 

Neal trailed after him. They ordered drinks separately and found two stools down at the quiet end. Sat side-by-side with Peter's bags in a heap at their feet. Peter said nothing. Neal was starting to panic. This had been a mistake. He should have left it alone.

But he hadn't, and he couldn't. He took a fortifying mouthful of his second martini (technically his first and a half). "You didn't come after me."

"I'm too old to be chasing you around the globe." Peter rubbed his thumb through the condensation on his beer glass. 

Neal licked his lip and tried again. "How's Neal?" Peter's eyebrows went up, and Neal grinned. "Moz told me."

Peter looked back at his beer. "Exhausting. Take my advice, if you're going to have kids, start before you turn 40. There's a woman in El's moms group who is literally half my age."

"Aw." Neal leaned in and elbowed him. "I bet you're loving every second."

It was the wrong thing to say. Peter's jaw tightened, and he turned on Neal, his gaze hard and furious, but he didn't speak a word. Just stared at him while Neal's world turned upside down. 

All these years he'd thought—assumed, really—that back in New York, Peter and Elizabeth were remembering the good times. Wishing him well. That Peter hadn't chased Neal because he wanted Neal to be free. That they understood.

Not that they didn't care anymore. Not that Peter was too angry to want to see him. 

"Peter—"

"Well," said Peter, cutting him off. "Good catching up. I'll see you." He picked up his bags and started to walk away.

"Peter," said Neal.

Peter didn't turn back.

 

*

 

Neal finished his martini and another and Peter's beer which was warm by then. He ignored the eight-thirty flight and spent four and a half hours pestering his few Montreal contacts in a desperate attempt to find out where Peter was staying. In the end, he called Moz and got him to hack the hotels' computers. "I hope you know what you're doing," said Moz, before he gave him the room number.

Neal hung up. "No idea."

He snuck into the Holiday Inn and knocked on Peter's door. There was a thump, but no answer. Neal knocked again. And again.

Finally Peter answered in shorts and a t-shirt. He looked grouchy. "It's the middle of the night. What do you want?"

Neal tilted his head reproachfully—a trick he'd learned from Satchmo—and waited until Peter sighed and let him in. Until the door was safely shut and they were alone. They could be themselves. 

"Well?" said Peter.

Neal stuck his hands in his pockets and averted his gaze from the rumpled sheets, probably still warm. "You must know I left to protect you. You're still mad?"

Peter sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hand through his short hair. "Neal, you left. You did this. You broke my heart." He gestured to the door. "Just go."

"Everything I did, I did for you and Elizabeth."

"I don't care," said Peter. "You lied to me, the worst possible lie. I can't trust you anymore."

Neal felt the blood drain from his face, had to blink to clear his vision. "But—"

"I can't trust you to stick around." Peter folded his arms and met Neal's eye for the first time all evening. It was like being flayed. "You know what our plan was, me and Elizabeth? We were waiting till the anklet came off for the last time, and then we were going to—to woo you. To invite you into our marriage."

Neal's mouth went dry. "The baby."

"The baby didn't change anything," said Peter. "You did. Cold on a slab, right there in front of me. So instead of being there for El, instead of enjoying those first few months, I—" He gulped, took a moment to recover. "I told you, I can't do this again."

The world was spinning too fast. Regret gaining on him like a tsunami. If he'd known. "I didn't think you'd ever— Not seriously."

"Well, you didn't stick around to find out. Your loss." Peter stalked to the door and held it open.

"Can't we just talk?" Neal was only now starting to comprehend the full horror of what he'd done. No wonder Moz refused to talk about that year. 

"It's late. I'm tired."

"Okay." Neal wouldn't help anything by forcing the issue. Peter needed time to cool off. Maybe in a month or two. He paused in the doorway, the thin line of Peter's mouth in his peripheral vision. "You know, for what it's worth, I would have said yes. I still would."

 

*

 

He headed straight for the park by the Fleuve Saint-Laurent, found a seat overlooking the water, and just sat, staring into the hazy night sky. Trying to fathom what he'd passed up without realizing. It could have been the perfect life. 

He was still there an hour later when Peter sat down next to him and said, "What does this make it, four and one? Five and one?"

"I lost count." He'd run so many times, and Peter had always caught him. It had taken a brutal con to break that pattern. Neal looked at the blurry lights on the other side of the river and waited till they crystalized. Reminded himself to breathe.

Peter stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankle. He'd put on sweatpants.

"I was just thinking," Neal said. "Moz keeps talking about the theoretical possibility of time travel. Maybe I should invest in his vision."

"The only way out is forwards." Peter didn't seem angry anymore. He held up his phone. "I just talked to El."

Neal glanced at him. "It's the middle of the night."

"We don't keep regular hours anymore," said Peter. "I emailed. She called." 

Neal nodded, feigning nonchalance while his nails bit into his palms. "What did she say?"

"She said I should forgive you. She said if you break our hearts again, she'll kill you herself. We've got a plan for that. No one will find the body." Peter shifted, moving fractionally closer. Neal held his breath. "She said to ask you if you're ready to come home." 

Neal reached for him before he finished speaking, but Peter held him off.

"You don't have to decide now," he said firmly. "We'd rather have a thought-through decision than a bone-headed spur-of-the-moment—"

Neal put his hand on Peter's face, leaned in and cut him off. Peter's mouth softened under his, warm and toothpaste-fresh, kissing back with aching sweetness. His hand landed on Neal's thigh, and Neal wanted him and everything he was offering so much, had wanted it forever. It was incredible to think it was really within reach. He pressed forward, ready to climb into Peter's lap and take what he could right now. Kissing harder, hotter. Losing his mind. Meeting Peter's growing urgency with his own. Peter's other hand slid into his hair, Peter was claiming him. It was all going to be all right.

Neal groped under the hem of Peter's t-shirt to stroke his back, and Peter shuddered and caught his wrist, pulling away but not letting him go.

"The city's crawling with cops," he said. "Law enforcement conference, remember? Let's not start this thing with El bailing us out for public indecency in a foreign country."

"It'd make a great anecdote," said Neal, breathless and distracted by arousal. 

But Peter was serious. "You're sure about this. You're not just going along with it because I asked."

He looked vulnerable in a way he never had before, and Neal wanted to erase that expression forever. He kissed him quickly. "I'm sure. You can trust me."

Peter nodded, and they started walking back to his hotel, but he still didn't look one hundred percent reassured.

Neal leaned into him. "Peter, it's El Dorado, the Polish Crown Jewels and the wreck of the Awa Maru rolled into one. _I'm sure._ "

Which at least earned him a fond smile and an arm around his waist. It was a start. Neal had the rest of their lives to convince him.

 

END

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Ripcord](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3206009) by [china_shop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop)




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